


Invasive Species

by NKMLN



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Blood and Gore, Curses, Gen, It might be cringe but frankly i do not care, M/M, Original Character(s), kudzu - Freeform, plant possession
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29853825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NKMLN/pseuds/NKMLN
Summary: The Conaghers fuck with god.God notices.
Relationships: Engineer/Spy (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Gardener’s Guide

The phone rings twice. In Bee Cave, Texas, a phone is snatched out of its cradle, and a door is slammed shut. In the living room, a young girl glances over and decides that it’s probably best if she keeps watching Green Acres instead of listening, because her mother doesn’t like it if she hears swears, no matter where they come from.

“Good morning, S-”

“Don’t you  _ dare  _ ‘good morning’ me, you half-faced ass! Where the hell have you been? I swear to god, I should tear you a new one- what the  _ hell  _ were you thinkin’, Dell, we fuckin’ talked about this, and you said-”

“Sadie-”

“ _ And you said  _ you wouldn’t do anything until the thaw set in, and you wouldn’t fuck around in that damn garage until- how many limbs do you have, now?”

“Still got all my limbs.”

“Uh-huh. And how many of ‘em came out with th’rest of you?”

The argument fades for a moment over the sound of canned laughter, and the howling wind on the other end of the phone. The little girl begins to rethink listening at the door. It’s not a very good episode yet.

“ _ Three?” _

“Sadie, please-”

“So you cut off one of your damn hands, and you didn’t call me for three months, and you let me think- you let me think you’d off and gotten yourself killed or worse, and I’m just s’posed to sit here and twiddle my thumbs and watch the horses- I’d love an explanation if you’ve got one. Cause if you don’t, I’m draggin’ you home, you know that, right? You better have a damn good reason for all this-”

“I did the hand last week,” comes the voice over the phone. “I’m still gettin’ used to it, and I just… you told me to call you if I had to.”

Sadie doesn’t speak for a long moment. The girl hears her call through the door. “Maria, go have Checkers herd up the ducks, alright?”

Maria dutifully switches off the tv and goes to look for her dog. Sadie pulls out a chair and sits down heavily. “Jesus, Dell.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” There’s another stretch of silence. “It’s gotten that bad?”

“What’d you expect?”

She laughs harshly. “You told me you’d get to fifty.”

“Fifty’s gonna be pushin it.”

“You promised.”

She can hear him sigh over the phone. “How’s Maria?”

“She’s fine. We’re not talkin’ about her, though.”

“Sades.”

“Come home,” she pleads. Her voice is tight. “Stop it. Jump ship and come home, alright? She misses you-  _ I  _ miss you. Just come back.”

“...You know I’m not going to do that.”

“Dell-”

“Love you.”

The line goes dead.

Sadie places it, none too gently, back in the cradles and runs a hand down her face. She can hear Maria and Checkers outside, chasing the herd of ducks from the pond to their coop. The fan creaks in the next room over. The blackberry plant tap, tap, taps against the window as it climbs the Conagher family home like a trellis.

“Jesus,” she whispers.

Jesus doesn’t answer.

Several states away, the Engineer hangs up the phone and leans against the pole. He’s… god. He’s realized why he hasn’t called in a few months. Sadie has the uncanny ability to tear folks to pieces without ever laying a hand on them. And he could bite back, he could-  _ at least I went somewhere, at least I did something, at least I’m trying to live without shunting this onto anyone else like you-  _ but they both know he won’t.

Someone behind him clears their throat. “Mornin’, Spy.”

“Are you quite done with the phone?” Spy asks. It’s no use asking why they’re both up before the sun. “Or are you going to get yelled at more? Because I should let you know that it was very amusing.”

“All yours.” He steps away and draws his coat around him. It’s still snowing, but he’d be more concerned if Coldfront turned warm. “Didja make any coffee?”

“I did not. Would you kindly-”

“Yeah.” He claps Spy on the back and starts trudging towards base. “Don’t freeze.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

The ice lays bitter on his skin, but he picks his way back easily enough. It’s just ice. He’s fine with ice. It’s the snow he can’t stand, and the snow hasn’t had time to accumulate yet. No snowdrifts. Hopefully, there won’t be any until they’ve been sent back to Teufort, and March turns Coldfront into a mess of slush and mud. He closes the door behind him and makes his way to the kitchen to begin the process of turning back into a person capable of socializing.

Back in the snow, Spy unscrews the panel on the public phone. He checks through the wires and carefully inserts his coins without dialing. The phone rings once, twice.

“Dell-”

“No,” he tells the voice. “I am one of his coworkers. He doesn’t know I’m calling, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

There’s a beat. “What do you want?”

“I suppose I don’t need to tell you he recently lost a hand under his own devices.” He braces the panel back in place. “And I understand that this is not… uncommon in your family.”

“It’s not. Answer the question.”

He screws it back in, covers his tracks. “Limb loss is not the only common factor in your family. The laborer is… a hard worker. He is an asset to our team. So-”

“Should you be concerned?” The voice exhales in what could be laughter. Sadie watches the blackberries creep over the window. “You should. Now, I’ve got something to ask you.”

“Do you?”

“Mm-hm. _ ”  _ She leans forward in her chair. Something harsh enters her voice. “Where’s my brother?”


	2. Legacy

It is 1935, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that it is mid-December in Bee Cave, Texas, and it is snowing. Dell Conagher, at all of eleven years old, is hiding under the dining room table and listening to his sister and his father yell at each other upstairs.

He knows that they are yelling about him, but he does not know why.

It is 1966, which does matter, though not for the reasons you’d think. It is mid-December in Teufort, New Mexico. Dell Conagher has just cut off his own hand with a table saw. He did not expect it to hurt this badly. Somehow, numbly, he did not expect it to hurt at all.

He dimly registers that someone is screaming. He cannot tell if it is him.

His sister teaches him what it means to cauterize a wound. “It means you seal the edges up, like this.” She holds up a chunk of wax with a gouge clawed into it, and melts the edges back together with a match. “If it were a person, it’d stop the bleeding. Smells like meat.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Is that why dad was…?”

“Yeah.” She doesn’t meet his eyes. “He’ll be alright. A little shorter, but that woulda happened anyway.”

Cauterization. The blood runs down his arm, drenching it in sharp, coppery rivulets. Right. He… he had a plan. Has. He has a plan. He has to seal off the wound. He can hear footsteps in the base around him, echoing softly. The wound is closing.

Cauterization. Scorching. He hurts. The door opens. It is his mother, come to wish him goodnight. Her eyes are pale and poplar orange. The ground slips from under him. “What did you do today?” she whispers to him in the dark. “I was busy, baby, I’m sorry. What-”

“What have you done?” someone else is asking him. He is being touched. He shrinks away from it, and his world spins, and someone catches him. “Laborer, what-”

“What are you gonna tell him?” she yells upstairs, and he presses his hands over his ears. “What- are you going to tell him at all? It’s his fucking future, he oughta know what he’s signin’ up for! Or are you just gonna be a coward an’ cover it up til he does what you tell him-”

His skin burns. He squeezes his eyes shut, and long, thin fingers lay against his forehead. “Don’t go to sleep, Dell, please, I can’t guarantee you’ll wake up, don’t-”

“-Don’t you _ever_ talk to me like that again-”

“Like what? You don’t like me callin’ you a coward? C-”

“Sadie Aenea Conagher, so help me-”

“Help you do what, kill your fuckin’ son?”

He hears his father roar, and the grand house moans on it joints, and his skin _burns,_ briars twisting at the back of his mouth, loosing his tongue-

And it all

goes

silent.

He can hear his own ragged breathing echoing in his workshop. Spy’s fingers are wrapped around the closed stump of his wrist, slick with something pale and green and thin. He shudders slightly, the pain sloughing off his skin and out of his mind in painstaking degrees. “I’m alright,” he hears himself say. “I’m fine. I’m alright.”

“Your _hand-_ ”

He glances at the saw. It is choked with greenery. Trembling, he takes up the Gunslinger and begins to fix it to his arm. “I’m alright. I’m not bleeding. I’ll...”

He does not finish his sentence. The buzzing in his skin stops once the hand is in place- he flexes it and watches it move of its own accord. His vision has gone wet, blurry. “I’m alright,” he says again.

His father watches from the door. He can hear crickets. “It’s alright.”

In Bee Cave, Maria slips into her mothers room and crawls under the sheets next to her. Sadie sighs in her sleep as her daughter nestles into her side. She can’t sleep. She’s having bad dreams. Shutting her eyes is an invitation, but she must call the dark forward to fall into it.

She curls up in her mothers hollows. Tears well in her eyes as her skin prickles. Her hand begins to ache, and she holds it to her chest, and she does not know why.


End file.
